


Easy Money

by BardofHeartDive, bioticfox (ayambik)



Category: Mass Effect - All Media Types
Genre: Blackmail, Cat and Mouse, F/M, Gen, Pre-Mass Effect 2, Pre-Mass Effect: Redemption
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-17
Updated: 2019-01-17
Packaged: 2019-10-11 15:19:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17449475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BardofHeartDive/pseuds/BardofHeartDive, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ayambik/pseuds/bioticfox
Summary: Feron had two conditions when he took his first job with the Shadow Broker: he keeps his hands clean and no one gets hurts. Just a way to make some easy money.





	Easy Money

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Reverse MEBB trial run. Story by me (BardofHeartDive), art and banner by bioticfox. As always, it was lovely to work with you, foxy. I hope you like it! Also, many many thanks to Azzy for running this awesome project every year!

Feron had never felt a pride or connection to the place he lived, so Illium was as good a place as any. For all that it pretended to be a beacon of civilized society, it was only a crack in the facade away from being as lawless and cut-throat as Omega. The run-down district he currently called home, riddled with condemned buildings, petty crime, and gang activity, was evidence of that fact. It didn’t matter to him though. It meant the rent was cheap and no one missed him when he came and went.

He glanced over at the quarian next to him, shoulders hunched toward the screen in front of her, pouring through the code displayed there. Well, maybe not no one.

As if she could feel his attention, Jori’Reelu nar Tesleya turned toward him and said, “You took the job.”

“I took the job,” he confirmed.

“I don’t like it.”

“It’s fine. I have—” 

“‘Conditions.’” Her voice dripped with sarcasm. “You keep your hands clean. No one gets hurt. Easy money. Bah.” She resumed working on the program but continued muttering under her breath. “Even on the Flotilla we know that the Shadow Broker is bad news.”

He squeezed her shoulder as he left and pretended he didn’t hear the affection in her voice when she added, “Bosh’tet” in response.

It was a short walk to the abandoned shipping center but he doubled-back several times, making sure he wasn’t followed. Ignoring the “No Trespassing” sign that flickered on the chained gate, he hopped over the fence and into the center. A few rats skittered away as he headed toward the dropboxes in the sideroom. He held his breath as he keyed in the code for Box 2705 and smiled when he saw the envelope inside.

He had no illusions about the morality of his new employer but the Broker had never given him an assignment that went against his conditions and that was enough for him.

Easy money.

He tucked the envelope into his coat, not opening it until he was back in his apartment. It was a single printed picture of an asari.

 

* * *

 

Her name was Dr. Liara T’Soni. 

She had been born on Thessia in 2077. Her mother was a prominent asari matriarch named Benezia, who had died in the last year under suspiciously vague circumstances. Her father was unknown. He thought about looking into those mysteries but deemed it unnecessary in the end.

She was an archeologist, whose research focused on the Prothean Empire and their extinction. She had graduated top of her class in all levels of study, and been published several times. He saved a collection of her articles but didn’t read them.

She had travelled with Commander Shepard over the last year. That was interesting enough to warrant further investigation so he did some digging. As best he could tell, she had been picked up at an excavation site on Therum and had accompanied Shepard through her hunt for Saren and his geth, staying with the Spectre even after saving the Council and the Citadel. She had been on the Normandy when it was destroyed over Alchera only a few weeks ago and was scheduled to attend Shepard’s memorial service in a few days. Besides that he couldn’t find any other plans. He thought it most likely she hadn’t made any.

He compiled the dossier and left it in the box as instructed.

The next morning there was a large deposit in his account, as always wired and routed through more exchanges than even Jori could follow. It was larger than he had expected but even that was less surprising than the message attached in the notes:

<<Find her.>>

 

* * *

 

For all that Jori complained about his work with the Shadow Broker, she never seemed to mind the things it paid for. Not the least of which was the dextro stew, actual stew not nutrient paste, she was enjoying while she continued her bug-sweep. Every now and again, she paused it and made a few changes, then restarted.

“You’ve never been off-world before,” she said around a mouthful of soup. Lines of text scrolled along the screen in front of her, reflecting in a mirror image on her visor.

“That’s not true,” he answered, because it easier to argue semantics.

“You’ve never been sent off-world by the Shadow Broker before.” 

“It’s nothing, observation only. I drop in, I keep eyes on the target, I’m out in a few days. Honestly, I’m more likely to be killed by a mugger here than on this assignment. Not to mention getting to go some place nice for once.”  

She turned toward him and even without being about to see her expression, he could tell she was unconvinced. He shrugged and shoved a spoonful of his own stew into his mouth to keep from saying anything else. She shook her head at that but opened a new screen.

“Where do you need to go?”

“The Citadel. And I need to be there tomorrow.”

 

* * *

 

Calling the Citadel “nice” had been both true and false. It was new. It was shiny and clean and, more than anything, expensive. It was also set in a lockstep of law and order that almost made him miss Illium in spite of himself. Weilding a modified camera bot and journalist credentials Jori had made for him, he found a place off to the side where he would be too far away to call for special attention and started scanning the crowd for Liara T’Soni.

He found her easily, sitting near the front in a row of humans and aliens alike. She was sandwiched between a human woman, newly promoted Operations Chief Ashley Williams, and a massive krogan, Urdnot Wrex if his research was to be believed. They had barely begun the first speech when Liara burst into tears and Williams wrapped her arms around her and pulled her in for a hug. They stayed like that for the rest of the memorial.

After nearly four hours of speeches and honors and musical selections, the service proper ended and the guests were funnelled into a reception. Feron shadowed Liara through, never far away but always at a enough of a distance to not draw her attention. Eventually she settled into a group and, still keeping half an eye on her, he surveyed the people around him. It didn’t take him long to find what he was looking for: a young, unassuming soldier focusing intently on his plate of hors d’oeuvres in a failing attempt to seem less awkward.

Keeping a wide berth from his actual target, Feron made his way forward, camera bot hovering just over his shoulder. 

“Pardon me . . . ” He glanced at the insignia on the man’s sleeve, “Ensign. Serrak Yaal, from Kahje’s Galactic Chronicle. Can you spare a moment?”

“Oh, uh, yes,” he answered. He seemed surprised by the attention, just as Feron intended, but he put the food aside and quickly straightened himself up. “Of course.”

“Ah, thank you very much.” 

Feron turned the bot so the lens was toward the man but directed its focus past him to Dr. T’Soni. Under the guise of adjusting the sound and lighting, he set it to take visual and audio recordings with her as the center point and to wirelessly scan and copy any data on her omni-tool if she accessed it in any way. 

“There we are! Please just start with your name and then continue with any thoughts about Commander Shepard’s legacy.”

He went through the motions of an interview twice more, paying just enough attention to nod here, smile there, while his real interest was the asari. As the reception wound down, he excused himself and disappeared with the information he had collected.

 

* * *

 

<<You do good work, Feron Siul.>>

Feron blinked at the message. He wasn’t sure when it had arrived, only that it hadn’t been there the last time he looked, and since it didn’t have a timestamp there was no way to tell now. It also lacked an identification tag, return address, and sender information, but there was no doubt in his mind who had sent it. He wasn’t sure how to respond but after considering for longer than he cared to admit he answered with: 

<<I did my best.>>

The Shadow Broker’s answer, on the other hand, was immediate.

<<We can tell. And we make it our policy to compensate accordingly.>>

<<Your last payment was very generous.>>

<<It was appropriate, given the information you provided.>>

Feron hoped that would be the end of it but knew better than to expect it. The Shadow Broker was not the kind of figure that reached out personally to commend you for your work, especially if you’d already been paid for it.

<<Based on your intel alone, our agents have been able to follow her movements for the last month. We lost her briefly between Sanves and Thessia but found her again when she attempted to arrange transport to Omega.>>

<<I’m glad it you found it useful.>>

<<We have another job for you. Something special.>>

A weight formed in Feron’s throat, slowly settling down into the pit of his stomach as he read the next message. 

<<Liara T’Soni is becoming a problem. Her search for Commander Shepard’s body has started interfering with our business dealings and it must be stopped.>>

<<With all due respect, that sounds outside my abilities.>>

<<Ah, yes. Your conditions. We understand your trepidation. But consider this. We do not need her harmed only out of the way. By accepting this assignment you will in fact ensure that all hands remain clean, as you say. That no one gets hurt.>>

He was trying to figure out how to refuse respectfully when another message came through, this one with an attachment. 

<<Perhaps you would accept this information as a token of our good will>>

A quick scan through the file revealed several articles on epidemiology and evolution of pathogens. Rage flashed through him, immediately replaced with ice cold dread and he answered:

<<How can I say no?>>

 

* * *

 

Feron knew the weight of what he had agreed to do, so he didn’t get stew. He didn’t go to the noodle house or the kebab stand. Instead, he took a transit shuttle all the way to the market complexes and stopped at the only bakery on Illium that made dextro pastries. Jori always stared at them whenever they happened passed but refused to spend her credits on anything so frivolous.

She opened the door when he knocked but stopped as soon as she saw the bag in his hands, standing directly in the doorway and blocking the way inside. He watched the shine of her eyes sweep over his face, then back to the bag, then to his face again.

“You took another job,” she said but she stepped to the side, letting him into the apartment.

“How did you know?”

“The bribe for one.”

She nodded to the bag as he held it out to her but showed no interest in taking it from him. Eventually he set it down on the table and took a seat on the couch.

“Is it still bribery if you don’t accept it?”

“Yes. What aren’t you telling me?”

He waited until she sat down as well, wheeling her desk chair around so that it was facing the room instead of the screen behind it, still full of green letters and numbers. 

“They contacted me. The Shadow Broker contacted me with the job. Directly.”

“ _ Keelah _ ,” she swore. “You are way out of easy money territory, you know that right?”

“Yes.”

“Even if you do this, and the next thing they ask, and the next, because there will always be a next thing. Even after all that, how long before they decide you know too much and they’d be safer with  _ you _ out of the way?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. Jori growled in response, throwing her hands up as she spun the chair back toward the terminal and started working on lines of code, each keystroke a little sharper than it strictly needed to be. “That’s why I want you to get out of here.”

She didn’t look at him when she snorted her reply, “And where do you suggest I go?”

“Back to the Flotilla.”

That stopped her dead in her tracks. She went completely still, not even breathing as far as he could tell, for an uncomfortably long time. Even then she didn’t look at him.

“I can’t,” she said finally and resumed her typing. “I’m on my Pilgrimage, remember. I can’t go back until I get this damn program running. Predicting viral genetic mutations is a tricky business and if I don’t get the algorithm—” 

“You’ve been done with the program for months now,” he said. “You finished it right before I left for the Citadel. You’ve been pretending to work out the kinks since then because you’re worried about me. But now . . . now, I’m worried about you.” He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Honestly, I’m not sure anywhere is safe from the Shadow Broker, but if there was a place it would be the Migrant Fleet.”

Now she turned. With the glass of her faceplate he couldn’t see her face and it wasn’t until that moment that he realized he probably never would. All the same, the tremble in her hands and the waver in her voice was more than enough for him to understand her.

“You want me to go.”

“No,” he said with conviction. “But I want you to be safe.”

After that she answered, “Then I’ll go,” but she did not eat the pastry.

 

* * *

 

Feron had no interest in working on Omega. Even off the station, anyone even vaguely familiar with shady work knew its one rule and the woman behind it. Regardless of should or shouldn’t, the Shadow Broker  _ didn’t _ scare Aria and the thought of a pissing contest between the two was terrifying. Better to avoid the situation entirely.

But the Broker had made it clear that he was to make contact with Liara and Liara had made it clear that Omega was the only place she was going to meet him. So he settled into one of the darker booths and ordered a drink and reminded himself, over and over, that all he had to do was distract her, throw her off the scent, nothing more.

Easy money.

He noticed her the moment she entered Afterlife, even before he realized who she was. An asari, even an armored asari, was nothing worth noting but she was too driven, too purposeful, to have been on Omega for long. The station had a way of sucking the spirit out of its inhabitants. Still, she was a different woman than the one who had cried during her friend’s memorial service only a few months ago, changed by a combination of desperation and commitment that he understood more than he cared to admit.

He made his way to the bar, close enough to easily observe her but not so close as to immediately catch her attention. She was attempting to hold a conversation with an elcor, looking for him no doubt, but did not seem to be having much luck. He let her flounder just a little longer, then gave her a way out.

“You have to love the elcor,” he said, keeping his head down and his face obscured under the hood. “They’ve got all the expressiveness of your typical tree. If they didn’t explain they nuance of what they’re saying it’d be like talking to one.”

She started to argue, then recognized him. Getting her out of the bar was easy. Like the Shadow Broker said, she followed him because he had what she wanted, even if he would not give it to her, even if he was leading her astray.

He thought of Jori and tried not to think to hard about what he had followed. 


End file.
